Your Worst Nightmare
by TiltedTeacupsAndLacedCorsets
Summary: 24 parents are reaped. 24 children are sent into the arena. With terror around every turn, the 100th Hunger Games is every child's, and even every parents, worst nightmare. SYOT, 18 spots are open!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games**

I still see the blood. It ran over his body like a train on tracks. Ore Strontium, District 2 male, 99th Hunger Games. The Games I won 6 months, 4 days, 3 hours, and 47 minutes ago. I wake up at night seeing Ore's face, this huge mass of muscle and bone, dilapidated by hunger. And I still stabbed him, right in the sternum. My mother quiets me in the middle of my panic attacks: _it was self-defense_.

But was it?

Now I'm here, sitting in my special little Victor's Box at the announcement of the Quell. President Mink, in her gown that could pay for half of my district's food for a year, had gone through all of the little steps, and was now about to take that stupid little envelope from the stupid little boy in the stupid little white suit and condemn another 23 kids to death by entertainment. Her hand, which was probably stretched and nipped and tucked just for these two seconds, reached into the aged box. _Oak_, I thought to myself. _The box is made of oak_. The talked about it in school once.

I suddenly wished that President Mink was highly allergic to oak.

She took out the envelope carefully marked '100'. Her nails, probably worth a few million dollars, cracked the seal on the aged casing, which had gone from white to yellow in the century since it's creation. The small circle of wax flew into the crowd, causing a stampede among those rainbow idiots. Mink maintained her malicious manner, waiting until the crowd died down. Her teeth, sharpened to a point, glinted beneath her evil smirk as she read through the challenge in her head. All the cameras in the stadium were trained on her face.

"To remind the citizens that their ancestors cursed their own children to this fate, parents will be reaped to choose which of their children of age to send into the arena."

**Please PM me your submission, the form is on my profile. You may submit single children. So far only 2 tributes are in! That means 22 are left! I need submitters, i need tributes! PM me or this story will die and I'll have to delete it and make a new one!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.**

"Sir?" I asked. The Gamemakers had been in conference for 6 hours, 43 minutes, and 28 seconds. This was my first day as the Head Gamemaker's secretary. He was a short, temperamental man and was known to go through as many as 36 secretaries in a year. That gave me about 9 days of credible work, and I could not mess this up.

I peered inside the titanium door, seeing a curious mixture of fashion designers, Gamemakers, Peacekeepers, and district representatives. 24 Avoxes, all identical looking, made 2 rows on each side of the room. I counted 12 district representatives, 12 designers, 14 Peacekeepers, and The 7 Gamemakers arranged around a long table. They had gone approximately 76 hours and 9 minutes without sleep, all in preparation for the Games. Consequently, all of the individuals at the table were in various states of disarray. The Head Gamemaker himself had grown an extra .375 inches of hair on his head, compared to his average for public appearances.

At first nobody turned, all of them still deep in livid discussion. One particular designer was ripping out chunks of a violet wig, screaming about how her tribute did not have red hair. The Head Gamemaker's back was still turned, his head in his hands. I could see his back rising and falling with each breath, suggesting that his heart rate had increased by 21 beats per minute. I'd find this anxiety to be reasonable, seeing as he was burdened not only with the arduous task of selecting the tributes' parents, but having to reach a unanimous decision with all the others in the room.

Slowly, his head lifted, and he turned around.

"What is you name?" he whispered, his voice trembling dangerously. The whole room went quiet, all heads turning towards me. A spark of PTSD ignited in my stomach. The Head Gamemaker, who only went by the name Sir, was a hodge-podge of various fad tattoos and surgeries. He had purple horns from 6 years ago, a forked tongue from 5 years ago, and several other odd appendages. His hair was the color of a rainbow, but dirty blonde peaked out from his scalp. Various flora and fauna covered his limbs, but, most notably, was a bright gold mockingjay across his face.

"Evangeline, Sir. Cygnet Evangeline. I wondered if maybe you wanted some tea, Sir," I said. My voice trembled. I was going to work for this man. Like I always was, working for a man. Pleasing a man. The wisp of purple hair that had fallen out of my ponytail was shaking. No, I was shaking. "There's a new shipment of fresh ch-ch-ch-chamomile from district 11."

"Ch-ch-ch-chamomile?" he said. Oh great, he was mocking me. I was going to get fired, go back to my old job. I unconsciously tugged on my blue sweater, covering the tattoo that my past job forced on all of its employees. It was recognized throughout all the Capitol, garnering whispers of simultaneously disdain, pleasure, and mystery. I stood up straighter. I needed this job, and this bitter little man was not going to treat me like my former boss.

"Yes, Sir, chamomile. It has been genetically engineered to increase focus by 38 percent, and decision-making time decrease by 56.2 percent. It was grown in an area with a constant temperature of 98.76 degrees, and was watered every 7 hours with vitamin X enriched water. It was brewed with , and a 1-6 milk to water ratio. It has also been enriched with enough caffeine for you to last 5 hours, 21 minutes, and 34 seconds."

The silence in the room seemed to intensify. I held a level, unemotional gaze with Sir. I would not look away. His face turned an alarming shade of crimson, a stark contrast to the golden bird.

"I have been working for the past 3 days with no sleep. And how many tribute's parents have we selected? Six! We have selected six. That means we have 18 more tributes, which, at this rate, with take 9 more days, and we have 7 days to select them! And you're asking me about tea, you little…"

"Or do you want some brewed with all-natural blueberry leaves?" I said, slightly louder than him, censoring his last word. I dropped my hand from my sweater. I would not let this man fire me. He was nasty, crude, disrespectful, sort of like an ex-boyfriend that comes back every time you move on.

However, I was not afraid of him now.

**A/N: Hello again! This is kind of a filler chapter. So there are 18 tributes open as of now. Females of district 1,2,5,6,9, and 11 are open, and males from all but district 4 are open. Please submit, so my writing spark does not fade and go away for a few months.**


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